Butterscotch

         Gladys stood shivering on the dock overlooking the misty lake.  Her cane shook in rhythm with the tremors that coursed through her body and her housecoat flapped about her feeble legs in undulating folds.  The autumn breeze had grown cold as the sun set but Gladys was too intent on internal feelings to worry about catching a chill.

         “Retirement was supposed to be our time together,” she sobbed into the wind.  She looked down at the hands tightly gripping the cane.  Once they had been smooth and supple, bestowing loving caresses upon a lover; administering soothing touches to an infant.  Now they were old, weathered, and gnarled from hard work and arthritis; empty, without a loving hand to hold, young or old.

         Gladys took another teetering step toward the edge of the dock, remembering how she and Gerry used to sit with their legs dangling over the side, talking about the cottage they would build when they retired.  “We built it,” her tremulous voice wavered.  “So why aren’t you here?”

         Tears washed through the lines on her cheeks like the runoff of heavy spring rains through the dusty gullies of a thirsty land.  She didn’t bother to hold them back or brush them away.  Who would see them anyhow, out here in this sad little retirement village.

         Another step landed Gladys’ slippered feet precariously close to the abrupt edge.  The wind blew stinging droplets of water against Gladys’ bare skin as she peered down into the water crashing around the piers.  “I miss you, Gerry,” she cried out, loosening her grip on the cane.  “I miss you but I will be home soon.”

         As she lifted her foot so step off the side, a mournful cry reached her ears.  Gladys stood still, listening.  It came again, but she tried to ignore it.  I can’t do anything to help myself, she thought, how can I help someone else? 

         She leaned out further, looking deeper into the swirling waters below the dock as the cry was repeated.  Even in her distraught state Gladys recognized it as a cry for help, but was it human or animal?  She gripped the cane and backed away from the edge of the dock.  I can’t leave someone else in pain, she thought sympathetically. 

         The pitiful moan filled the air once more, begging for someone to hear.  Gladys tried to locate its source in the rapidly dimming light, finally following it to an overturned dingy a few steps up the shoreline.  “Who’s there?” Gladys called.  “Is anyone in there?”

         A small head peeked out warily from beneath the boat, its sad, pleading eyes searching the gathering darkness for a refuge.  “Why, it’s a little cat,” she exclaimed.  “What are you doing, hiding under there?”

         Gladys lowered her aching, tired body to have a closer look.  She stretched out her hand to pet the small furry head, feeling around the matted hair for injuries.  “Let's get you home,” she whispered, struggling to her feet. The little cat followed, moaning with each step, dragging one leg and its tail.

         “Don’t hurry for my sake,” Gladys said, looking back at the pained creature.  “I’m slow anyhow so we’ll both take our time.”

         Entering the cottage, Gladys turned on the light and looked down at her new acquaintance.  “First order of business is to get you cleaned up.”  Using her cane she pushed a handled basket toward the cat.  As if understanding her intentions, the cat gingerly stepped in and lay still, allowing Gladys to carry the basket to the kitchen.

         Gladys gathered clean towels, wash clothes, and antiseptic to bathe the cat’s wounds.  She patiently washed its matted coat, combing out blood, dirt, and burrs, inspecting the skin for injuries.  “We’ll take you to see the vet tomorrow,” she said, wrapping the cat in a soft, warm blanket.

         She washed her hands and carried her ward to the living room, nestling down into the corner of the sofa.  When she awoke the next morning, she looked around, confused.  Why am I here? she wondered.  Gerry’s picture smiled down on her from the mantle and she stared back blankly.  The events of the evening before returned to her as she stroked the bundle in her lap.

         Gladys dressed and deposited the sleeping cat in the basket of her motorized scooter.  Moments later she arrived at the porch of Dr. Howard.  Although retired, he cared for the animals of those living in the retirement village.  “It saved them a few dollars and a trip into town.  Besides, it makes me feel useful,” he’d told Gerry.

         “I hope I’m not calling too early, Mrs. Howard,” Gladys said as the door opened.

         “Goodness, no,” she replied sweetly.  “And please, call me Beverly.  What have we here?”

         While Dr. Howard examined the cat, Gladys explained how she found it and described how she had bathed its injuries the night before.

         “What in the world were you doing out on the dock at that time in the evening?” Beverly asked.  “You could’ve caught your death of cold!”

         Gladys blushed.  “I guess I wasn’t too concerned about that,” she said softly.  “I, I…” she sighed as tears filled her eyes.  “I just miss Gerry so much,” she blurted.

         Beverly reached out and clasped Gladys’ hand.  “Let’s go in the kitchen and have a cup of tea while Seth finishes up,” she suggested.

         Dr. Howard joined the women in the kitchen a few minutes later.  “This little lady will be just fine, but she’ll need a lot of attention over the next few weeks.”

         “She’ll need a name, too,” Beverly added.

         Gladys thought for a moment.  “Butterscotch,” she said with finality.

         The doctor and his wife looked at each other.  “May I ask why you’d call a black and gray cat ‘Butterscotch’?” The doctor asked, confused.

         Gladys smiled.  “Butterscotch was the only candy my Gerry would eat, and his favorite butterscotch was Lifesavers.  That’s what this little cat is to me, a lifesaver.”

995 words